The Other Side
by VoiDreamer
Summary: Theron Mahariel has always hated the flat ears for what they had done to his family and what they stand for. But a late night discovery brings with it a startling new stranger, and with her the chance to see a side of life he had not cared to know. A 'First Meeting' One-shot between Origins. F!Tabris/M!Mahariel


**AN: **I have always wanted to see a fic about m!Mahariel/f! Tabris because in my mind it seemed like there was a lot of potential to see how the dynamic of dalish v. 'flat-ears' functions as a cultural norm. Once upon a time I meant to make this a full fledged fic, but given all my other commitments it looks like only this one-shot will be happening. If anyone would like to take the idea and run with it (or maybe make a new one about this pairing) let me know! I'd love to read it!

I hope you enjoy! And as always I own nothing you recognize as Dragon Age (characters or otherwise).

~Voi

* * *

"Quick, call the Keeper!"

It was the dead of night, but the voices echoed through the camp, spreading like wildfire across dry brush. Echoing through the clearing where they had made camp, it wouldn't be long before all were alert to the events unfolding beneath the stars.

"By the Gods, what happened to her?!"

The voices were getting louder by the second, but for Theron Mahariel the very first stirrings of noise had been enough to rouse him from his slumber. A skilled hunter, he had earned his place in the Clan by being observant, quick, and as the gods willed it, an exceedingly light sleeper. In stark contrast however was his friend who remained where he was on the cot beside him, his fair hair half hidden beneath the thick fur blankets.

"_Tamlen_."

Theron sighed as his friend remained undisturbed by the chaos growing outside their tent, a part of him wishing he could do the same.

Calling to his clan mate a second time proved as fruitless as the first, and so it was that Theron abandoned the course of action, turning instead to the small crate that stood by the tent entrance. Years of training had taught him to move silently and he dressed with haste, tightening the laces on his leather hunting breaches and pulling his customary dark tunic over a light leather jerkin.

He was not one to be found unprepared. Indeed, even before he stepped outside he slid a third hunting knife into his boots and freed one of many longbows from its lashings to the tent pole.

It was only then that he emerged into the dimly lit clearing that was serving as the clan's current home. There was movement everywhere, and his sharp eyes caught the familiar forms of the Keeper and his adoptive mother as they moved away from camp, towards the forests edge where other shadowed figures were waiting, talking.

He drew closer, trying to see who was talking more interested in the contents of the conversation than the people themselves. Running to catch up with his foster mother, Theron nearly gave her a start as he placed one large hand on her shoulder.

"Ashalle, what is going on?"

The green eyed hunter could not recall the last time she had looked so serious, so worried about anything. Her eyes glittering, her face was a mask of grief and sorrow. In her arms she carried several bundles of linens, the kinds which were usually reserved for the treating of only the most grievous wounds.

"Oh da'len," there was such terrible pain in her voice as if she might break at any moment, "The evening patrols have found something awful."

"What is it?"

Never one to mince words, Theron looked towards the circle that had gathered before them, all waiting for the Keeper. He received his response a moment later, and the image very nearly made him sick to his stomach.

"Is it even still alive?" He whispered, unable to look away, disbelief rooting him to the spot. A mess of blood obstructed a clear picture of the figure before them, but it was _everywhere_ and there was the unsettling notion that not all of it belonged to the one.

"She is." Ashalle responded, "That is why they called for Keeper Marethari, though it is unclear if anything can be done."

Looking at the quivering creature on the ground before them Theron thought they were but wasting their energy. As a hunter he knew what a death blow looked like, could read the patterns and the ways in which the damage had been inflicted.

There had been cruelty done to this small one. Theron felt his hands curl into fists as anger roared through him.

"I will go and get water then," he turned to go, to try and distance himself from what seemed inevitable, "the Keeper will need it for her healing."

"No."

The order was spoken by the grizzled but still formidable Keeper Marethari, who had turned away from the body to temporarily face the two, "You are needed here Mahariel, come, you will carry this child back to my aravel. The damage is…worse…than I anticipated, and I cannot do my work here."

Ashalle handed him the long bolt of linen and motioned him forward. And though he knew with his head that what they were doing was pointless, he followed the rules of the clan and carried the bundle of flesh and blood where the Keeper demanded. And when he had finished with his task, he was sent away, with the order to search the forest 'just in case.'

He searched until the sun had reached its zenith in the sky, but found nothing else. The forest was precisely as it had been the day before and though he left no stone unturned it was as if their discovery that early morning had come from naught but a nightmare. Or was it perhaps from across the Veil? Theron felt a shudder seize him at the thought.

By the time he returned back to camp all knew of the discovery, and were curious. Eyes followed him as he passed and more than one fellow hunter came to ask about those few minutes when he had carried the broken wretch to the Keeper's home. It was only with Tamlen's arrival that the questions abated, at least momentarily.

"There you are, Lethallan!" His friend was sickeningly cheerful in his greeting and, as usual, appeared well rested. The dark circles under Theron's light eyes were a testament to the less than equal share of sleep.

"Remind me to shoot you with an arrow the next time you refuse to get up." Theron grumbled as he sat down beneath a large oak, "I should not have been the only one awake for what occurred this past morning."

"Indeed – I've heard the rumors. The patrols are casting blame on the humans, said they saw carriage come and dump the body before leaving."

"Humans…" Theron repeated grimly, remembering the deep lacerations on tender skin, the bruises that had turned pale skin dark purple.

"There's also been news that the flat-ears in Denerim rioted last night, though no one knows the cause. Hundreds died."

Light colored eyes straying from his friend to the pack at his feet, Theron pulled out a length of thread and his small hunting knife.

"I thought you had given up listening to the gossip in camp, Tamlen."

Working efficiently, the darker haired hunter cut the thin cord and replaced his knife in its sheath, pulling out a delicate sewing needle a moment later.

"I had," His friend tried to explain, "But I couldn't help the way Maren went on about the news this morning. By the Gods Theron, what if it's true?"

"About the flat-ears in Denerim?" Theron glanced up from where he was threading the needle his face expressionless, "We aren't responsible for them."

"But they are kin…of a sort."

"They might have been _once_." Theron's lips twisted into a frown, "But it was _their_ choice to abandon their pride and lives as pets to the humans. The Dalish fought back, there is _no_ comparison; we don't owe them anything."

Tamlen was silent for a good while afterwards, his expression thoughtful as he observed the camp that spread out below them. Indeed, when at last he spoke again, his words were all the more unexpected.

"I think I'm in love with one of them, the flat-ears."

"What?!" Jerking up from his work, Theron swore aloud as he jabbed the point of the needle into his finger.

"I knew you would take this badly." The fair-haired elven man sighed exasperatedly, still not looking at his friend, "We have always spoken on a great many topics, and it is only on this one that we are in constant disagreement."

"Must I remind you why?" Theron could hardly keep the fury from his voice, unwilling to let it choke him.

"No. I'd really rather you didn't." Tamlen grimaced, "It's not going to change anything, and I know how I feel. I _am_ sorry Lethallan, but-"

He trailed off as he caught the look of betrayal on Theron's face, lost a moment later as the other bent over to tend to the small cut on his finger. Silently, Tamlen watched as his dark haired friend very consciously avoided his gaze, hiding the pain both knew so well.

"Falling in love with Shianni wasn't something I planned on, Theron. The gods will what they wish, not the other way around."

"You know my parents were killed by those spineless flat-eared pets and their human masters. And _still_ you do this!" The dark haired hunter stowed his materials away and stood up, all but vibrating in anger and hurt.

"Theron, please!" Tamlen pleaded with him, following him down the hill, seeing the way his friend was already pulling away, both emotionally and otherwise.

"Theron!"

He was attracting too much attention as they walked through camp, but Tamlen didn't stop shadowing his friend until he had disappeared into their tent.

"Theron?" He spoke through the tent flap.

"Leave me alone." The voice was bristling with anger, "I need to _think_, Tamlen, and I can't do that when you're constantly bothering me."

The blond elf hesitated before eventually acquiescing, his head falling slightly as he walked away. They were as close as brothers and as thick as thieves, this distance between them was as painful as the sensation was foreign.

Tamlen hoped they would resolve their conflict soon.

Ashalle found the dark haired elf a while later, only just completing his mending, eyes trained on the seam while his fingers pushed the needled back at forth in an easy, measured pace. Smiling, the woman noted the careful way he finished the repair and the small crease that appeared on his brow when he found his work less than satisfactory.

Still, he donned the tunic without comment, only then turning to look at her.

"Ashalle."

There was a pain in his eyes she hadn't noticed as he worked, and even now she could tell how he strove hard to conceal them. Unable to help herself, the older woman gently came forward to pat her son on the shoulder, offering what comfort she could.

"The Keeper is asking for you, Theron."

"The child is dead." It wasn't a question, and Theron looked almost carved of stone as he gazed down at her. Strange that even under his healthy tan the young man could look so pale and ill at ease.

There was little she could offer him in comfort.

"I know not," the blond elven woman shook her head lightly, her expression somber. "But she has been calling for you, da'len, so it must be important."

Theron merely nodded, straightening his tall form, and quickly fastening the leather straps of his armor, pausing to give them a testing tug before deeming them acceptable. Ever the warrior, it took several minute more before he considered himself able to leave the safety of his tent, the familiar bow and sword finding their comfortable places on his back.

It took all of a moment to cross the spare clearing from his own abode to the larger structure that housed the Keeper and her First. Given a place of prominence on the crest of a hill, Theron paused just outside the aravel, casting a quick glance back at the rest of his clan.

They were a proud peoples, capable and fierce, but every day they lost a little more of who they were. Arlathan was now little more than fireside story, a dream that grew harder and harder to realize with each generation.

Such loss was familiar to him, but Theron was not immune to the hot burn of rage as it filled his chest. It was an injustice, all of it. Exhaling slowly to give himself time, the Dalish archer shook his head once before entering the Keeper's abode; anger would not serve him now and it was unseemly to approach the Keeper thusly.

He ducked inside the heavy doorway of the aravel half expecting to find a body covered in a sheet, the intricate designs for burial painted upon its surface. What he found was much different.

Pale from blood loss, beneath the thick quilts and heavy furs of the Keeper's bed lay a delicate female elf, her features clearer now that the blood and dirt had been wiped away. Riotous red-brown hair lay sweat streaked across her heavily bruised and scarred face, but she was whole. And as Theron had doubted, very much alive.

"Ah, there you are, da'len." The Keeper's voice was soft amidst the darkness, "Come in."

"Keeper?" His voice was a bare whisper, mindful of the child sleeping so close at hand. He came to sit beside the older elven woman, noting her haggard appearance, the pale pallor of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes, apparent even in the dimness of the unlit aravel. It was clear she had used every scrap of energy she had to keep the young elven girl alive.

"She is sleeping," There was a wealth of contentment in those simple words. A happiness at being able to undo a small bit of evil wrought onto one so young.

"The flat-ear is little more than a child, who would want to harm her?" Theron knew the dangers humans posed to all elves, but the more her looked at the battered girl the more he failed to understand. Where were the traitorous elves he held in his mind, the ones responsible for the death of his parents?

"There are cruel beings in all races, Theron. But there has been talk of recent conflict in Denerim and I fear this lethallin may be one of its victims."

Distantly Theron remembered Tamlen's concern about the elves there, the woman he loved in danger. He had thought his friend overly concerned, foolish almost. But the longer the Keeper watched him the more he felt he had been unusually cruel.

Was he still such a child despite his age and place in the clan? There was, apparently, still much he had to learn.

"Did you want me to visit Denerim, Keeper?" Perhaps by going there himself he would atone from his mistakes. Alas, the Keeper had other ideas.

"Tamlen was sent to Denerim along with Juna and Fenarel. He was…very worried about a young elven woman there. I didn't have the heart to tell him no."

Theron shifted uncomfortably, Tamlen was not always the most controlled when there was something personal on the line. "Forgive me Keeper, but…he might get into trouble, or bring that trouble back with him."

Marethari smiled, "Strange isn't it, to have to decide between what the heart wants and what is best for the clan?"

"They should be one and the same." Theron responded dutifully, his hand touching his heart in sincerity.

"And yet…" The Keeper pressed a hand to his shoulder as she moved passed him, "Sometimes our hearts are not always mindful of who they love. It is not uncommon either, Theron, for one to leave the clan in order to follow a lover, a wife, a husband."

Beneath her hands, the girl whimpered softly, calling out for her father and, among others, someone named 'Nelaros.'

"Even in sleep this one's heart is with those she loves. A strong heart, this one. Good. " Marethari beckoned Theron to sit at the bedside, pressing a damp cloth into his hand as she slowly straightened up.

"Look after her while I rest, da'len?"

Nodding in agreement, Theron settled on the stiff wooden bench beside the bed and slowly relaxed. He still did not understand why the keeper chose him for such a task, but the Keeper had never been wrong in her judgment. He trusted her orders and bowed to her greater wisdom.

It was in trying to figure out his Keeper's intent that Theron passed several hours in quick succession. The silence was pleasing to him, familiar and calming, it allowed him privacy of thought. It was with a small measure of surprise then, when several hours later he glanced at his charge to find her awake.

She had, he noted, such large eyes, like a small animal or child. But where a child was usually so full of emotion, this one looked up at him unblinkingly. Sorrow seemed to have set her lips in a small frown, but her eyes remained blank.

"Hello." Speaking plainly, the archer turned to look at her properly as he set down the rag beside him, "My name is Theron. You're safe here."

Her lips trembled slightly at his words, and her eyes seemed to suddenly darken as if she was near tears. The knuckles of her hands were near white as they clasped tightly to the blankets at her neck, but she spoke not one word.

"Are you in any pain?" Theron asked gently, his voice dropping to a coaxing hum as he drew slightly closer, searching for any wound that had opened, any sign of blood. He had seen the seriousness of her injuries as he carrier her in, to reopen a cut would take the barest of movements.

Already he could see blood welling from between her fingers and rushed to where he knew the Keeper had bandages.

"What's your name?"

Turning to glance at her once more he tried to manage a smile but didn't get very far, his expression falling as he watched her fingers bleed even more heavily from the strain.

Sitting back down him gently but efficiently grabbed the bloodied hand and set about binding it, apologizing under his breath at her muffled noise of distress.

Feeling his own stress mounting Theron cursed in Dalish before setting to his task anew, finishing one hand before moving on to another.

"Come on, speak to me. Anything. "

The girl's voice, when at last she found the strength to speak was so soft as to be nearly undetectable. He didn't doubt that part of the reason was the damage done to her neck.

"My name is Kallian," A tear welled in the corner of her eye but did not fall, "Kallian Tabris."


End file.
